


Madame Chambord's Camera Shop

by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays



Category: Ghost Quartet - Malloy, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Anatole - Freeform, Andrei - Freeform, Andrey, F/M, Ghost Quartet, Natasha - Freeform, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812, idk what else to put
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 12:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays/pseuds/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays
Summary: Parallels between characters and their stories (ps some stuff is mixed around when it comes to the Ghost Quartet part of the story to fit with the Great Comet universe)





	Madame Chambord's Camera Shop

A jingle of bells signaled an entrance.

In the doorway of an unnamed store stood a windswept and rain soaked man, who looked around the dusty shop with curiosity. A dim yellow light came from a single faded lamp perched upon the checkout counter. Persian rugs and bear skins adorned the walls, covering every inch that wasn't occupied by shelf upon shelf of every type of camera imaginable. Behind the counter, a young man who presumably owned the store was perched upon a rickety stool , the newspaper he was reading obscuring his face. The headline read: 

SUBWAY MURDER BAFFLES POLICE.

An inexplicable spike of guilt pierced the shopper's body.

The shopper took off his coat and shook out the water in it before sitting down on one of many cushioned vintage bar stools lined up along the outside of the counter. A plume of dust puffed out of the chair on contact.

"Weather's wild, huh?" The store owner's deep voice came from behind his newspaper as he turned the page. "Well, suppose I should get up and help you find what you're looking for." The store owner did not move.

The shopper opened his mouth to say the type of camera he needed when the store owner began to speak again.

"This subway murder really is crazy," he muttered, now flattening his paper against the counter.

Now visible, the shopper could see the store owner had brown hair piled onto his head in waves, a light layer of stubble along his angular jawline, and deep-set, chestnut eyes all coming together to form a grim face. Suddenly, the shopper was struck with a feeling of familiarity, as though he knew this man from a place he did not remember.

Before the shopper had time to digest this, however, the shop owner was speaking once more, though now in a hushed tone, as though he were worried someone would hear them in this empty shop.

"A guy was just waiting on the platform, waiting for a train to take him to his house or a doughnut shop or God knows where when he just died. Some crazy old guy yelling about the end of the world got up behind him and pushed him onto the platform. He was just playing on his phone, too, just playing some stupid app trying to kill a boss when it was over. He was done. Still haven't identified him, of course, the only thing on that phone was the app he was playing, the guy had no contacts or anything."

The shop owner leaned in closer, now speaking so softly the shopper had to strain to hear him.

"The weirdest part happened right before he died, though, when he was still trying to get off the tracks. There were about twenty people around, and half say that right then, for just a second, they saw someone new on the platform. Someone holding a camera. Someone that witnesses say looks an awful lot like you."

The shopper leaned away from the shop owner just a fraction of an inch, eyes open wide. The air in the shop suddenly felt electrified, not romantically, but charged all the same. The feeling of inexplicable guilt was back, stronger than before, as was the shock of familiarity. The shop owner was clearly inspecting the shopper, his eyes sweeping up and down the shopper's face.

Then, suddenly, the shop owner leaned back from the counter, the guilt was gone, and the invisible cord that had seemed to tether them together was cut.

"But then again, everyone else says that no one appeared, so who knows what to believe. I'm Andrey, by the way. Andrey White Bolkonsky."

The shopper let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

"Anatole."

Andrey smiled at him, the bittersweet smile of a parent whose child was just handed their high school diploma. Anatole felt as though he should follow Andrey's lead.

"Er, Anatole Red Kuragin."

Andrey stuck out his hand.

"Well, nice to meet you, Anatole."

Anatole met Andrey's hand with his own, albeit awkwardly.

"Okay, now to get down to business"-it took all of Anatole's willpower not to sing Mulan-"I'll grab you your camera." Anatole did not know how Andrey would find the camera Anatole needed, but he kept silent anyways.

Anatole watched as Andrey bumbled through the shop, moving cameras onto different shelves to look behind them (and leaving them there), climbing on lower shelves to see the higher ones, and occasionally ducking under the counter. Eventually, Andrey emerged from under his stool, hitting is head on the way back up, with a plain, rectangular cardboard box. He sat back down and slid the box to Anatole.

Anatole paused, unsure whether he should trust a complete stranger giving him a box. It could contain anything, including hornets.

But Andrey was watching him, and Anatole was a man of pride.

He lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a Minolta film SLR, identical to the one he had broken.

Anatole looked back to Andrey, stunned, not even knowing what questions to ask. Andrey, however, continued like he had not just performed a mind-reading trick.

"Funny that you're name is Anatole. That fiddle on the wall over there belonged to my great grandfather. His name was Anatole, too."

Anatole looked where Andrey pointed and saw a small violin he had not noticed upon entering, stark white against the dark wooden wall.

"How-how is it so light? What's it made of?"

"An old breast bone," said Andrey matter-of-factly.

"Wow. Creepy."

"Yeah, it was his brother's bone. His name was Andrey. I'll tell the story."

"Anatole and Andrey lived by the sea on the edges of Russia. Andrey was in love with an astronomer who lived in the treehouse and only went out to go to church. Her name was Natasha. Andrey decided he had to show her how he felt, so he went into her treehouse with her and looked at the stars through her telescope. He wrote her a poem on what he saw in the stars and how much he loved her,then sent it to her with a lily."

"And?"

"And she scratched out his name, wrote her own, and published it in the astronomy journal she edited."

"Oh. That's...not good."

"Yeah, it's not great." Andrey was staring out into space, clearly lost in his head, thinking of something sad from long ago. Anatole felt as though Andrey should not be disturbed, but he also wanted to hear the rest of the story.

And Anatole always got what he wanted.

"Um, Andrey?"

Andrey started violently.

"Hm?"

 

"What happens next? In the story?"

"Oh yes, yes. Well, Andrey was heartbroken by this, and declared his hatred for Natasha, but not before Natasha had seen Anatole enough times to fall in love with him. Now, their secret relationship worked for some time, kept hidden behind locked doors and stolen in quick moments. However, one day Andrey caught Natasha on her way to visit Anatole, and she let the whole story slip. Both lovers tried to make excuses, of course, but Andrey was too smart for that. He rode by troika as far as he could into the nearby forest, then continued on foot until he reached the heart of the forest. There he met a bear, who agreed to kill Natasha, turn Andrey into a crow, and place the corpse and crow in a cave until the crow grew so desperate it had to feed on the body of the person it had loved.

"Of course, this came with a price. In return, the bear wanted one pot of honey, one piece of stardust, one secret baptism, and a photo of a ghost. Andrey tricked, stole, and manipulated to achieve these ends, having been driven mad by his obsession with revenge. He got the honey from a soldier he pretended to love, got the stardust from an ancient he pretended to care for, and stole a baby from its teenage mother to baptize. The mother died soon after. The only name anyone knows of the victims is the baby's. She was called Starchild."

"And did the bear do it?"

Andrey smiled.

"Nah, he just took the stuff and left. Instead, Andrey pushed Anatole into the river near their cottage, watched as he drowned. The Miller found him and pulled him out, leaving his bones out to dry. Soon after, a fiddler out for a walk found the skeleton and fashioned a violin out of the breastbone. Somehow, it made its way back to Andrey, and has been here ever since."

Andrey stared at Anatole for a moment in silence, then took out his phone and began to play a game. Anatole, sensing the story was over, placed the camera carefully into his bag, slid two hundred dollars onto the counter, muttering something about keeping the change, and walked towards the exit. Halfway through the store, he turned around.

"And, uh, Andrey?"

"What about the last thing? The ghost picture or whatever?" asked Anatole, trying to sound nonchalant.

Andrey just smiled sadly. "Enjoy your camera."

Anatole crossed the rest of the store, his hand on the door handle as he turned again.

Andrey was gone, but his phone was still on the counter, the homepage open to reveal that the only app on the phone that was not pre-installed was a game with a huge bear as the icon art.

xxx

Anatole could have gone home. He had no reason to be where he was.  He could have just walked right back up those stairs and left this dirty, dark subway station. 

But he didn't.

Instead, he stood nervously on the platform, his new camera held close against his chest. People gave him a wide berth, though they did not seem to notice him. A man in a tattered green and red cot stood behind him, holding a cardboard sign and screaming something about the apocalypse.

"The end will begin with a bear!"

And that is when Anatole saw him.

Andrey was standing on the edge of the platform, head bent down over his phone as he played a game.

"It will demand four things!"

Andrey didn't notice as the screaming man inched up behind him.

Andrey didn't notice as he dropped his sign.

But Andrey certainly noticed as the man lifted his arms and shoved Andrey onto the tracks.

"One pot of honey!"

Andrey scrambled to get back up onto the platform.

"One piece of stardust!"

Andrey looked up and met Anatole's eyes.

"One secret baptism!"

A shutter snapped.

A train roared.

"And a photo of a ghost!"

A camera shattered.


End file.
